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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Michael and Nikita exited the van, strode down the hallway, and entered the main corridor. Nikita could feel tension crackling in the air the moment they arrived. She wasn't surprised to find Walter waiting for them, the lines in his face looking as if they had been cut with a knife. "What's going on Walter?" Nikita asked, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing.
Walter tried to smile at Nikita, failed, then focused his attention on Michael. "You're wanted in Madeline's office...ASAP!" he hissed.
"What is it?" Michael countered, echoing Nikita's question. He could feel that something was wrong. Nikita would call it intuition. Michael called it instinct.
"Operations was shot!" Walter announced. He pulled away from Nikita and began pacing again.
Nikita stared at him in disbelief, then glanced over at Michael. Not surprisingly, he betrayed no reaction. Although his eyes seemed brighter, or something. Nikita couldn't identify it. "Shot?" she repeated, as if expecting Michael to have an explanation.
He ignored Nikita to confront Walter. "When did it happen?" he asked, his tone level. A part of Michael wasn't sure how he felt about the news, nor what it would mean for the Section.
"About sixteen hours ago," Walter replied. He could imagine the thoughts going on in Michael's head. Some would be a reflection of his own.
"Why weren't we informed?" Michael shot back, letting irritation color his voice. Although it wasn't Walter who he was angry at.
Walter shrugged. "You were on a mission," he replied, locking eyes with the young man. "You know the drill, Michael." They all knew. The success of a mission came before anything else.
Nikita was still trying to absorb what Walter had said. "What happened?" she queried. It was one of many questions dancing in her head.
"We're not sure," Walter replied. He took a moment to study Nikita. She looked confused and he wondered what she was thinking. It was not as if she and Operations were *friends*. Yet Nikita wasn't one to wish anyone dead. "Ummm....it happened outside of Section," Walter explained.
"How is he?" Somehow it wasn't surprising that Nikita was the one who asked that question.
Walter shook his head. "I don't know," he replied, his eyes once again going to Michael. "He's not here."
Michael was stunned and hard put not to show it. But he managed to slip his mask back into place. "Where is he?" he countered, his own eyes boring into Walter's. The old man was hiding something.
"We don't know," Walter countered. He couldn't hold Michael's intense gaze, so he turned away.
"I'll be back," Michael said, to no one in particular. He turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor. It didn't take long for him to reach Madeline's office. He glided through the double doors then stopped, dead, in his tracks.
Seated at Madeline's desk was Egram Petrosian. The blond-haired man smiled at Michael, as he rose to his feet. He could just imagine what the young man was thinking. "I'm sure that you have many questions, Michael," Petrosian commented, as he moved around the desk to confront the operative.
Michael didn't deny it, but he asked only one. "Where's Madeline?"
"You don't need to know that," Petrosian countered, his tone of voice leaving no room for discussion on the matter. He let his pale eyes flicker over Michael, briefly. Taking in the field gear that clung to the young man like a second skin. "The mission went well," he said.
"Yes," Michael replied. That was all. He was prepared to wait Petrosian out in order to get the answers he desired. There was no love lost between the two, and Michael knew that Petrosian enjoyed baiting him. Michael refused to let himself be hooked.
Petrosian was pleased by Michael's behavior. He was displaying restraint and reserve, two qualities that Petrosian much admired in an operative. "I'm sure that you're wondering about Operations," he drawled, as he paced a slow circle about the younger man. It was yet another test.
Michael didn't display the irritation he felt. His face was a mask as he countered, "Is he alive?"
"For now," Petrosian allowed. But he didn't go into detail. "This incident means a change in the chain of command, since it has...obviously...been disrupted. I've been placed in charge for the time being."
"Until Operations returns," Michael said, stating what he hoped was a fact. When Petrosian didn't respond, he tossed out another question. "What about Madeline?" One way or another he would learn where she was. By rights, she should have stepped into Operations place.
Petrosian offered a cold smile. He knew that Michael was fishing for answers. "Madeline's services are needed elsewhere," he replied. "Which, of course, means that her position needs to be filled in her abscence." Petrosian returned to the desk and patted the corner. Then he locked eyes with the Michael, whose dislike for him was almost tangible. "You'll be taking Madeline's place," he announced.
Michael was stunned and hard put to hide it. He shook his head. "But...I'm a cold op," he countered, somewhat defensively. "A tactician."
"Come now, Michael," Petrosian drawled. "Don't be so modest. I've studied your file as well as spoken with Madeline about you on numerous occasions." He paused for he could see that this information was news to the young man. "You're an excellent tactician, that's true," Petrosian allowed. "But you're also a skilled strategist. I need someone I can trust."
"You need someone to supervise the teams," Michael shot back. He was surprised by Petrosian's claim of trusting him, but didn't respond to it. Michael felt that he would be treading on dangerous ground were he to do so.
Petrosian leaned one hip against the corner of the desk, then folded his arms over his chest. He studied Michael for a long moment, absorbing the almost *exotic* beauty of the younger man. Michael was an enigma in many ways. Some ways were more intriguing than others. Petrosian looked forward to scratching below the surface of Michael's facade. But now he pinned the young man with a frigid stare. "You will do as you're told," Michael. Petrosian let the tone of his voice echo the coldness of his eyes. "Do you understand me?"
Michael nodded. He was no fool. He had no choice but to follow orders, and they both knew it. "Of course," he replied, his eyes locking with Petrosian's. But his was a *blank* stare. One that he had perfected. It seldom failed to get a reaction, usually one of irritaion. Michael almost smiled to see annoyance flicker across Petrosian's features now.
"I've brought someone in to take over your duties," Petrosian replied. He pushed away from the desk and paced a few steps.
"Who?" Michael asked, with more than a little curiosity.
Petrosian smiled once more, this time it was with genuine delight. "His name is Jeremy. Perhaps you've heard of him?"
Michael didn't respond. He didn't need to. Petrosian was aware that he knew of the other man. They had never met, but Michael was cognizant of Jeremy's reputation. The operative was what some people would consider a *hot dog*. Others would call him an outlaw. He cared little about team effort, or loss of life. Operatives were expendable in Jeremy's book, so long as the mission was successful and he looked good. Jeremy was also big on calling the shots, but seldom participated in the field. He was often the only operative to survive the mission. After reading his file, Michael had been surprised that Jeremy hadn't been cancelled long ago. But he said nothing about Petrosian's choice. There was no point in doing so. What was done, was done. Michael knew he couldn't change the scenario, so he wouldn't waste his energy. Eyes still locked with Petrosians, he inquired, "Is that all?"
"No," Petrosian replied, his smile fading. "We have work to do, Michael. Section will continue with or without Operations. Birkhoff has the intel on our latest mission. Contact him. You have one hour to come up with a strategy." Petrosian watched Michael closely, but the young man hid whatever he was feeling. It was an admirable trait. "Briefing in one hour, the conference room. Inform Nikita."
"Fine," Michael replied. He took that as his cue that this meeting was over and turned to leave.
Petrosian moved to cut him off. "Where are you going?" he countered, his eyes glittering with amusement. At Michael's confused look he gestured about them then said, "This is your office now."
Michael felt a chill ripple down his spine at the reminder of his new position. "Of course," he whispered.
"One hour," Petrosian repeated, then he turned and strode out of the room.
For a long moment, Michael stood rooted to the spot. But then he released a breath and walked over to Madeline's desk. He used her pager to contact Birkhoff, requesting the computer whiz's presence, immediately. Once the younger man had confirmed that he was on his way, Michael stepped around the desk and sank into Madeline's chair. He gazed about the office for a minute, feeling as if he were trapped in a twilight zone moment. Then he buried his face in his hands, feeling as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled upon his shoulders. Of one thing, Michael was certain. Something was terribly wrong.
***********
Nikita, Walter and Birkhoff were in the conference room, along with a man Nikita had never seen before. He had to be a cold operative, either someone new or someone on loan. Nikita didn't like him on sight. He was a big man, overly muscle-bound, in Nikita's opinion, and he studied her from head to toe with a lascivious grin on his face. He had close-cropped blond hair and brown eyes, and Nikita had to resist the urge to punch him in the nose. "Who is that guy?" she asked, moving to crouch down between Birkhoff and Walter's chairs.
Walter grimaced. "He's a jerk," he replied.
"I figured that out for myself," Nikita countered with a grin. But then she grew impatient. "What's he doing here? I've never seen him before."
"Sugar.." Walter began, but he broke off as footsteps approached.
Petrosian entered the room with Michael on his heels. Petrosian saw that Nikita was the only one surprised by his presence, and had expected as much. "Long time no see," he said, in greeting to her.
Nikita scowled at Petrosian. "Not long enough," she drawled, as she moved to drop into an empty chair. "What are you doing here?" Nikita questioned, but her eyes flickered over to Michael, who took the chair at the head of the table.
"I'm in charge of Section," Petrosian replied, although he was announcing it to the group at large. He moved to rest his hip on the corner of the desk, beside Michael. It was a tactical manuever on his part. He was testing Michael's restraint. "As you all know by now, Operations was gunned down outside of Section One. All I know at present is that he's in critical, but stable, condition. I'll update you on his status as I receive the information."
Nikita wasn't satisfied. "Why isn't he here?" she questioned. Section One had some of the finest doctors in the world, as well as leading technology.
"We have our reasons," Petrosian replied, pinning Nikita with a cool stare. He admired her spirit but would not allow her to cross the line. "I have another announcement to make," he declared, as a smile crossed his face. "In Madeline's abscence, Michael will be assuming her duties. Which means he'll be second in command of Section and, accordingly, you will treat him as such."
A heavy silence filled the room before Walter asked the first of two questions on all their minds. "Where's Madeline?"
Petrosian folded his arms across his chest then shrugged. "You don't need to know that," he replied, his voice cold.
"Who's going to take Michael's place?" Nikita queried, asking the second question.
"Jeremy," Petrosian answered, pointing to the blond man. "He'll be running all the tacticals and assuming Michael's other duties....for the time being."
Nikita had a bad feeling about all of this, but kept it to herself when she glanced over at Michael and saw the warning look in his eyes. He didn't like this situation either, Nikita could tell. So she bit her lip and remained silent. After the briefing she and Michael would talk.
Petrosian saw the subtle exchange between Michael and Nikita, only because he was looking for it. It pleased him, for it gave him the ammunition he needed to keep control over Michael. "We have a mission," Petrosian announced, letting them know that it would be business as usual for Section. He grabbed the remote for the 3-D vid screen and brought up an image. "This is Fulton Sykes. He's the Donald Trump of South Africa. He has in his possession a book of names. We need that book. We can't take it outright, because he is protected by our government. So, it's up to us to pilfer it." At this point Petrosian looked over at Michael to continue.
"Sykes has a weakness," Michael said softly. "Women. We'll send Kim to get to close to him."
"Why not Nikita?" Jeremy interjected, his eyes on the beautiful blond.
Michael felt the urge to punch Jeremy's lights out, but didn't let it show. Calmly he replied, "Because Sykes has a passion for petite, dark-haired, Asian women."
Petrosian was pleased, as well as amused. Michael had done his homework. But it would be interesting to see a showdown between him and Jeremy at some point in time. "Good enough," Petrosian said. "Jeremy, put together your team. The plane leaves in one hour."
"Here's the background intel you'll need on Sykes," Michael said, handing a CD to Jeremy.
"Right," Jeremy replied, standing up because he felt the need for a physical advantage over the other man. He believed that he was Michael's superior in every way and that he should have the power and position that Michael possessed. Someday soon, he would. Turning away, Jeremy went to Nikita. "You're on my field team," he told her, loudly enough for Michael to hear.
Nikita looked over at Michael who betrayed to reaction to this announcement. She was irritated by it for it meant that she and Michael wouldn't have a chance to talk. Or so she thought.
As he walked past them Michael said to Nikita, "Come to my office before you leave." His eyes locked on Jeremy's for a moment, then he was gone.
It amused Petrosian to see Nikita brush past Jeremy as if he didn't exist, to follow in Michael's wake. He knew that Jeremy would punish her for the obvious insult to him. Or what he would perceive as an insult, at any rate. So far, everything was going as Petrosian planned. Jeremy would handle Nikita, while Petrosian took care of Michael.
************ Nikita couldn't get over how odd it was to see Michael sitting behind Madeline's desk. She sensed that he was uncomforable being there, but she also knew that now was not the time to discuss it. "What's going on, Michael?" Nikita demanded.
"I don't know," he admitted. He had his hands clapsed together on the desk top, but his eyes were locked on Nikita's face. "I want you to keep on guard, Nikita," he said softly. "Watch your back around Jeremy. Don't trust him for a moment."
"Believe me, I don't," Nikita countered, a scowl on her face. "He's an arrogant jerk."
Michael sighed. "Jeremy is ambitious," he replied, a touch of anxiety coloring his voice. He wanted Nikita to understand. "He's not a player, Nikita. He cares only about his own life, everyone else is expendable. Don't let him compromise you in anyway. I'm trusting you to bring the team back alive."
Nikita felt herself grow pale as Michael's meaning sunk in. She didn't dwell on it, since they didn't have time, she simply nodded. "I'll watch over them," Nikita promised. Then she changed subjects. "What do you think happened to Madeline?"
"I wish I knew," Michael replied. "I'll see what I can find out. You have to go, Nikita." The plane would be leaving in twenty minutes.
"Be careful, Michael," she whispered, as she rose to her feet.
Michael offered a slight smile and nodded. "I will. You too." He wanted to say so much more, but couldn't be certain that they weren't being monitored. Michael had done all he could to protect Nikita at this point. He had told her the truth about Jeremy, and forwarned was forarmed. Now he would have to trust that she could protect herself and, safely, return to Section.
Nikita headed for the door. "Later," she drawled, then she was gone. As she walked down the corridor, Nikita whispered what she hadn't been able to say to Michael's face. "I'll be thinking about you, Michael. And praying for us both."
*************
Michael strode down the corridor of Section, on his way out. He needed to contact some people, to see what he could learn about Operations and Madeline. He had several connections that Section knew nothing about. He passed by Walter's station and felt the old man's eyes burning into him. Michael would have liked to stop and reassure him that everything would be all right, but Walter had been as Section longer than he had. Michael knew he wouldn't believe him.
Petrosian suddenly appeared before Michael, in the center chamber that led off into six different directions. One of them the exit. "Going somewhere?" he inquired, a smile on his face.
"Home," Michael replied, not feeling the need to explain further.
"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Michael," Petrosian drawled, as he took a step closer.
Michael wasn't entirely surprised, although he had anticipated such resistance. "Why not?" he asked, calmly. His expression was a mask that betrayed nothing.
Petrosian's smile faded. "For your own safety it's best that you remain in close-quarter standby."
"For my safety.." Michael repeated. "What makes you think that I'm in any danger?" he countered.
"Because I believe that Operations' was shot by contract," Petrosian explained. He watched Michael's face closely, but the young man kept his blank stare in tact. Petrosian admired his ability to do so, although it was a bit irritating. Of course, that was part of the purpose behind it. "Madeline is in safe keeping as we speak," Petrosian revealed, when Michael remained silent. "I think she's also a target, and that you might be on the list."
Michael shook his head. "I'm not significant," he said. And he meant it.
Petrosian laughed softly. "Oh...but you are, Michael," he countered, firmly. "You would be surprised. But that aside, I can't let you leave Section. You're safe here and I won't put you at risk. I need you."
"I see," Michael replied. A part of him believed that Petrosian did need him, but not in the context that was implied. Michael was certain now that whatever had happened to Madeline, Petrosian was involved. Instinct told him that the other man was also connected to the hit. Now all Michael would have to do is prove it. He closed his eyes at the enormity of what he proposed. Ironically...he would have a better chance of seeing God. But Michael let none of what he was thinking show as he did an about face. "Do you know who's involved?" he questioned.
"No," Petrosian replied, feeling a sense of relief that Michael appeared to have accepted his story. That was not to say that he trusted the young man. Michael was very clever, so Petrosian would be watching him closely. "But we're working on it," he said. "We'll find out who's behind it and they will be punished."
Michael nodded. "Of course," he whispered, then he turned and walked away. First place he had to go was to see Birkhoff. Since Michael couldn't leave Section, he would have to work from within. Second thing he had to do, check on Nikita. She and the team would be arriving in South Africa soon.
***********
Nikita kept careful watch of the perimeter of the warehouse. She and the other team members had landed in South Africa just over twenty-four hours ago. Sykes had been partying at his club and Kim had made an entrance, garnering his attention. It didn't take much to hook him. Now they were at one of his warehouses while he conducted business. Kim had let the team know that Sykes kept the book in the safe in his office there.
Jeremy had ordered team one to create a distraction so that Sykes and his guards would be called out, leaving Kim alone in the office. She had just announced that she had the book and was on her way out. The moment she reached the van, Nikita and the others would pull back as well.
"I'm in."
Nikita heard the words over her comm unit and she was relieved. She was anxious to return to Section. She was worried about Michael. Now she waited for Jeremy to call them in, but minutes passed without a word. "What's going on?" Nikita queried, speaking as loudly as she dared. When she received no response she declared, "We're coming in!" she knew that the others on team one and two would hear her.
"NO!" Jeremy's voice rang out. "Hold positions," he ordered.
"Why?" Nikita challenged. She was getting bad vibes and Michael's words echoed in her head. That she was to watch her back because Jeremy couldn't be trusted. Nikita sensed a set up. "What's going on?" she demanded.
Jeremy's voice was laced with anger. "Do as you're told!" he snarled.
Nikita was just about to order the others to ignore Jeremy and pull out when an explosion resounded behind her. Whirling around she saw the west wing of the warehouse go up in flames. "What the hell!" Nikita shouted. But in that moment she understood. Jeremy had triggered the explosion, but since none of the operatives had set any charges, Nikita knew they had to be booby trapped, herself included. The first place she checked was the most obvious, the pack on her thigh. Sure enough, she found a C-4 charge. "You bastard!" Nikita hissed, even as she hurled the charged out into an open area. And none too soon. It went off seconds later. "You're wired!" Nikita shouted, as a warning to the other operatives. "Check your packs!" Nikita knew that Jeremy could hear her and set off the rest of the charges, but she was hoping that they weren't linked. At least some of the team would survive.
Even as she gave the warning, Nikita was on the move. She ran back towards the van, keeping to the shadows. Other explosions went off behind her, and she could only hope that they were igniting in the air, and not on the operatives. Reaching the van, Nikita pulled her gun. She slid open the door and entered, her weapon trained on Jeremy, who whirled around at the sound of her approach. "Why?" Nikita asked, her eyes shooting blue sparks.
Jeremy laughed. He was not afraid of her. "Because they're expendable," he replied. And for him it was the simple truth.
"So are you," Nikita drawled, and then she pulled the trigger. A smile of satisfaction curved her mouth as she watched Jeremy topple to the floor, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. She tapped her headset and gave the order to those who were left alive on the team, "Everyone come in. We're going home."
***********
MIchael was in Madeline's office, sitting at her desk, his attention focused on the monitor screen of her computer. As engrossed as he was in the files that were displayed, Michael was fully aware of the of the person who silently entered the room. Petrosian. Michael didn't speak. He simply waited.
After a time Petrosian moved to stand in front of the desk. His eyes were locked on Michael as he commented, "I understand you've heard from Nikita." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Michael replied, shifting his eyes from the monitor to Petrosian. He could sense an uncharacteristic anxiety beneath the other man's calm facade. "The mission was successful," Michael explained. "We have the book. The team should be back in about eight hours."
"Casualties?" Petrosian asked.
Michael let a moment of silence fall between them before he replied, "Five operatives, including Jeremy."
A soft laugh escaped from Petrosian and his pale eyes glittered. "How convenient," he drawled.
"Yes," Michael replied. That was all.
"So...have you figured out my plan?" Petrosian queried, as he began to pace in front of the desk. It was more a rhetorical question than anything else, for he knew that Michael had discovered his deceit. In spite of the situation, Petrosian was impressed.
Michael studied the other man, watching as he paced. A part of him wanted to feel hatred, but there was only pity. Petrosian would hate that. "You wanted to created a new...regime," Michael replied.
Petrosian nodded. "Basically...yes. You know...I would have brought Madeline back. Eventually. It would have been the three of us, Michael. You, me and Madeline...running Section One."
"Why me?" Michael questioned, with genuine curiousity. There was no love lost between them. He could not even garner any respect for the other man. For the operative he had been.
"Does it really matter why?" Petrosian countered. Anger tinged his voice but he soon erased it, retaining his cool tones.
Michael shook his head. "No," he conceded. It really didn't matter in the end.
Petrosian paced for a bit, letting silence fall between them once more, but then he asked, "Where do we go from here, Michael? We're at a stand off. You need me to retrieve Operations and Madeline."
"I know where they are," Michael countered, receiving no pleasure from the dumbfounded look on Petrosian's face at this news. "They'll be back in Section soon."
"Very good, Michael," Petrosian acknowledged, and he truly was impressed. "But, tell me.....How did you find them? And how did you find me out?" Petrosian was burning with the desire to know.
Michael had no intention of revealing his means, or his resources. He would make only one confession. "I have connections," he allowed.
Petrosian nodded. "Indeed you do," he replied. "And very high up in the hierarchy, I would guess." At Michael's nod he continued. "I would also guess that Operations and Madeline are unaware of these...connections?" He waited for a moment, his eyes locked on Michael's face. When the young operative didn't respond, Petrosian had his answer. Since he knew Michael wouldn't confess any secrets, Petrosian decided to change topics. "I suppose the liberators will be coming for me?" he queried.
"Yes," Michael acknowledged. "They'll be here soon." He found it hard to hold Petrosian's cold gaze. The term *liberators* was an inhouse name for the people who were coming to take Petrosian away. He would be thoroughly interrogated then, if he was lucky, he would be cancelled.
"I must commend you, Michael," Petrosian drawled, suddenly aware of the fact that the young man felt pity for him. The thought infuriated him, yet seemed trivial at the same time. So he let it pass. There wasn't much time and there were things he wanted to say. "You are a worthy opponent."
Michael was surprised to hear that. "I didn't know we were playing a game," he countered, somewhat contemptously, in spite of his best intentions not to make this personal.
Petrosian sighed. "LIfe is a game, Michael," he drawled. "It's like chess. Do you play?"
"Yes?" Michael replied.
"I'm not surprised," Petrosian said softly, then he laughed. "Have you and Operations ever played each other?"
Michael nodded. "On occassion," he allowed. It occurred to him that they hadn't played a game in over a year, and a part of him wondered why. But that was a thought for another time.
Petrosian was intrigued. "I would have liked to have seen a match between the two of you." He knew that Operations was a master player, but could guess that Michael could more than hold his own. But even as he spoke, Petrosian's thoughts were elsewhere. He reached beneath his jacket, one hand moving to the small of his back, and removed a small gun. Smiling, Petrosian chambered a bullet, then levelled the weapon at Michael. The young man didn't flinch and Petrosian knew that it was because he wasn't afraid to die. That was something they had in common. "I want you to know something," he whispered.
"What?" Michael prompted. His eyes weren't on the gun, but on Petrosian's face.
"Remember when I called you incompetent?" Petrosian queried. He could recall that moment as if it had happened yesterday. He could still see the cold fire in Michael's silver-green eyes.
Michael nodded. "I remember," he allowed, his tone clipped. A part of him had wanted to strangle Petrosian with his bare hands, but Nikita had intervened, throwing his own words back at him.
Petrosian smiled, and this time it was genuine. There was no mockery or coldness. Just sincerity. "I never truly believed that," he said softly. "Yet, even so, I made the foolish mistake of underestimating you, Michael. I consider it a pity that I won't have the chance to match wits with you again." And, so saying, Petrosian pulled the gun off of Michael and stuck the muzzle in his mouth. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger and the echo from the shot reverberated in the air.
Time seemed to tick loudly by as Michael simply sat in his chair. He didn't look at the body on the floor, or the pool of blood that spread across the carpet. Nor did he call for anyone. But as the seconds turned into minutes, Michael closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.
************
Operations was sitting on the couch in Madeline's office, and she was beside him in a comfortable chair. The blood stains had been removed from the carpet, as if they had never been. Four days had passed since Petrosian's suicide, but it seemed almost like years.
The double doors opened and Michael glided into the room. He stood before his superiors, his stance wide and his hands clasped before him. "You wanted to see me?" he offered in lieu of a greeting.
Madeline smiled at him. "Yes, Michael. We wanted to thank you." She gestured to Operations and herself. "You did a good job." They had read Michael's report about Petrosian's plan, as well as hearing from George. No one questioned how Michael had discovered the truth. There was no point in it, for they all knew that Michael would not betray his sources. It was enough to know he had used them to maintain the security and structure of Section One. He had proven his loyalty to them, and for that he would be allowed his...secrets. For now.
"I'm sorry about Petrosian," Michael countered, his eyes locking with Madeline's. He knew that she had been friends with Petrosian. Maybe something more. His sorrow was sincere, for he could sympathize with the sense of betrayal she must be feeling. There had been a time when Michael had trusted Madeline. Once he had even considered her a friend.
"So am I," Madeline allowed. She could guess at Michael's thoughts and she felt a moment's regret for what had been, but could no longer be. But it was a moment that quickly passed.
Michael nodded. "Is that all? I have reports to finish."
Operations waved one hand. "That's all," he confirmed.
"Michael?" It was Madeline who called him back, just as he reached the door.
Turning around, he waited.
Madeline stood up and crossed the floor to confront him. She lifted one hand to tuck a stray curl behind one ear, smiling as she sensed that Michael wanted to flinch from her touch. But he didn't. "I want to make sure you understand that this changes nothing. We won't let up on you. Not even a little. And we will always be watching."
"I know," Michael whispered, allowing a slight smile to curve his lips. But he was intrigued by the fact that Madeline's words almost seemed to be a friendly warning, rather than a threat. With a nod of acceptance, Michael turned on his heel and left the room. He headed straight for his office and wasn't too surprised to find Nikita waiting for him. Michael said nothing as he stepped around her and dropped into the chair behind his desk.
Nikita grinned at him from the chair opposite him. "So...how did it go with tweedledum and tweedledee?" she inquired, knowing that he had just been to see Operations and Madeline.
Michael allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk up into a grin at Nikita's choice of titles for the Section superiors. "Fine," he replied, as he switched his computer on. He really did have reports to finish.
"Tell me something, Michael," Nikita beseeched, ignoring the fact that he was being stand offish. That was normal behavior for him.
"What?" Michael countered, letting his annoyance show. He was afraid of what Nikita might ask. She was full of surprises.
Nikita twisted a lock of pale hair around one finger as she replied, "How did you figure out Petrosian's plan? And how did you know where to find Operations and Madeline?" Those were the questions on everyone's mind these past few days. There were rumors abound, but Nikita wanted the truth, and Michael was the only one who could give it to her.
He was silent for a moment, lifting one hand so that his fingers could pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, "I got lucky," Michael whispered.
"Hmmmmmm..." Nikita murmured, knowing full well that Michael didn't believe in luck. And he knew that she knew it. Which meant that he wasn't going to give her an answer. "That's okay," she replied, rising from her chair and walking around the desk to stand before him. Nikita tangled her fingers in Michael's hair, then leaned over to give him a passionate, lingering, kiss. Once she felt herself becoming lightheaded, she pulled back and turned to leave the room.
"What was that for?" Michael questioned, after taking a moment to find his voice.
Nikita stopped in the doorway and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Consider it my little secret," she countered, then she winked and strolled out.
Michael leaned back in his chair and lifted one hand to brush his fingertips to his lips. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss. "Touche, Nikita," Michael whispered. But then the phone rang and all the warmth that she had left behind faded from the room. It wasn't only the enemy outside the walls of Section One that Michael had to protect himself from, but the the enemy within....himself.
THE END
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